If Only My Future Didn't Look so Bleak
by Lynn Jones
Summary: Three Heraldic generations before Liraz Tovinia was exiled to Earth, Leora Tovinia nearly got landed on by a crash-landing spaceship full of Cybertronians. And after that, well...what would you expect to happen when Cybertronians land on someone?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue 

I guess if you're reading this, you don't know much. But then, when this is over, I won't, either… Moving on. Because if you did know much, you'd stay away. We can't let the Factionists get hold of this information – or any human who has it. So if you're human, and reading this, and thinking you're oh so brilliant for finding it, please allow me to set you straight.

You are only truly brilliant if you stop reading RIGHT NOW and maybe burn this copy of this story. Or delete it from your memory word by word as you read this warning. That would be good. Or you could give this to someone you REALLY don't like, so when the Heraldic Hunter squads arrive, they get killed, not you. I'm just kidding; please don't do that. I only wrote this as a resource, not a murder weapon. Properly responsible Heralds or Colonials are the only personnel allowed to read this.

So all you humans out there, STOP READING NOW. Final warning: this story is HAZADROUS TO YOUR HEALTH.

Sorry about that, Heralds, Colonials. Please, know that I, Leora Tovinia, am ever at you service – NOT. Anyway, please be careful with this information. I wouldn't want anyone to do anything, uh, hasty.

Chapter One

"All I wanted was a little sightseeing," I muttered. "That's all. No giant robots, no war, just a little canyon side stroll."

"I don't think Zeta was really interested in what you wanted, Leora. He just wanted you to help him." As helpful as Dolf thought he was being, he was not helping my foul mood in the slightest – except maybe for the worse, which was definitely not in his best interests if he wanted to continue leading a normal, happy life. Or any life at all, for that matter. I rolled my eyes.

"That's what I mean! He's a big bot. Zeta can take care of himself. Why pull me into his problems?" I demanded of no one in particular, and anyone except Dolf. Who, of course, answered me. He shrugged.

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe it was because we're the ones with battlesuits and _brant_ swords?" he tried, voice dripping with irritating sarcasm. So I rolled my eyes again. (Hey, I'm a girl and a Herald. I can roll my eyes if I want to!)

"I still don't see why I have to…"

"You don't. We're not here to make you do anything you're not comfortable with doing," Kumi Prime snapped. I whirled on her. Kumi, like most of the huge mechanical beings who'd landed on my planet last week, was _much_ taller than five-foot-seven me. At ten feet tall (roughly), Kumi Prime was on the short end of the robots' height spectrum. Her new armor, which was bright silver, was a Heraldic-style upgrade from her original gray armor. Kumi bore both a conventional robot weapon (a clumsy ene…enre…ener…energon! Energon blaster) and a Heraldic sword (which had been enlarged by, like, a thousand percent to fit her hand).

"Like slag you're not," I snarled. In truth, it was Zeta I was annoyed with, not Kumi. The lugnut had just crash-landed on my planet nearly killing me, and totally ruining my walk in the park, then been offended when I chewed him up and spit him out (Robots don't digest well).

I guess I should have some amount of compassion for him. After all, his girlfriend – oops, Counterpart – Bathilda Prime, supreme ruler of their home planet, Cybertron, had just died before the lot of them all came here. I didn't really understand the whole Counterpart thing, or the details of his Herald/Colony idea, but I had given Zeta and Company the benefit of the doubt. Even if he WAS several circuits short of a motherboard. Like, ten or twelve critical circuits short.

Anyway, I was stuck with Kumi as my guide to Cybertronian culture and Dolf (a Herald, like me) as my tail. I was teaching Kumi the art of Heraldic swordsmanship (or swords_bot_ship, as the case may be). Well, Kumi was better than Dolf the Dolt any day – just ask anyone who's met him for half a second or more. Any of us would take Giant Alien Robot over Goi-Who-Must-Spy. And I do mean anyone, even other Gois. More on the Goi organization later, I think.

"Leora, where are we going?" Dolf asked in typical Dolf style, breaking into my thoughts like a bulldozer. _Think the Devil's name, draw him near,_ I thought ruefully, quoting Gyps's favorite saying about the Gois.

"I am going to see Zeta. He has a project for Gyps," I explained. Dolf cast a pointed glance at Kumi Prime, obviously asking if she was coming with. Which she was. "Kumi is my guide to the newcomers' culture, and my sword-student. She comes with me. You, Dolf, YOU will not even be a fly on the wall in this. You will go back to your Counsel masters and tell them that. Be glad I tolerate you and that I have given even as much information as I have. I do NOT like spies." As I had anticipated, my comment containing the 'S' word made the Dolt bristle angrily.

"I am NOT a spy!" he shouted. I raised an eyebrow at his outburst, but said nothing for the moment. "Well, I not," he mumbled under my disapproving glare. I grimaced to myself. What was it the Counsel called their Fly Fleet again? Oh, yes.

"Oh, yes, you're a Goi, aren't you?" I corrected myself slowly. "What does that stand for, again? Generally Offensive Idiot?" Dolf looked like he was about to blow up, his face was so red from lack of oxygen. He couldn't _breathe,_ he was so steamed up. I eyed him worriedly. "I don't think that's particularly healthy, Dolt," I informed him tartly.

"YOU – KNOW – VERY – WELL –WHAT –GOI – STANDS – FOR!" Dolf yelled. I nodded.

"Sure, but why don't you remind me real quickly, before you go back to the Oasis?" I suggested calmly. I swear by the Forges, Dolf should get one of those little fans you can attach to your battlesuit so he doesn't overheat. The desert can do that to you when you're frustrated.

"Goi stands for Gatherer of Information!" Dolf roared. I grinned wickedly.

"Control your temper, Fly," I told him lightly. I have to admit, NOW Dolf was improving my mood. Gois are so fun to mess with. Those of you who don't have one tailing you just don't know what you're missing. The Gois, of course, are never amused by these taunts. The Colonials, however, find them incredibly hilarious.

"Why, you little…"

"Goi, you may work for the Counsel, but that doesn't mean you're invited along on my business trips – or allowed on them, either. Scram," I commended. Luckily for me, my family (the ever-famous Tovinias) held a strong position independent of the Counsel's grip. We could also act with impunity from their persecutions simply because the Tovinia authorities would get us first. Anyway, Dolf the Dolt scrammed, leaving me and Kumi to mosey our way over to Zeta's top secret Colonial headquarters, which were incredibly glamorous, high-tech, and TOP SECRET. So, in other words, it was a hole in the canyon wall, also known as a CAVE. Please do not ask how I got away with keeping the gigantic alien robots in a cave right by the most important city on Heer-olde. Just don't, okay? Please? For me? No? Shoot. Well, I don't have to answer to you; I've already written all this, so it's not like you can drag anything out of me I don't want to put down, right? HA! I DO have power here, after all!

Any who, my planet (for those of you who are too slow-witted to realize this) is called Heer-olde. My people (the residential runaway asylum patients) are the Heralds. By the way, we really are insane for the most part. The Tovinias are sane, but the rest of the planet (particularly the Counsel) is plain old crazy. Particularly the Counsel. Oops. I already wrote that. Oh, well.

My planet is Heer-olde, which means _home-place_ in our language (Heer-oldec, or _home-land-speech_), is mostly desert. Within this desert are Life-Pockets (_leif-tecksopas_), which gave birth to my people, the Heer-oldak (_home-land-ones_). One of these Life-Pockets became the center of power for my family – the Tovinias. We rule about one fifth of Heer-olde; the rest belongs to the Counsel.

Every generation, a few Tovinia children were sent to be mentored in the Counsel's lands. The caverns in the canyon near the Oasis (the Counsel's power center) were our refuge from the Counsel's prying eyes. It was a refuge the Cybertronians had made quick work of turning into a military camp, despite their assurances that they were out of the war back on their home planet.

"Leora! I didn't know if you'd be coming or not!" Gyps called. I guess I'd better tell you about Gyps. She's my best Heraldic friend, and the best weapons and metal smith in the whole of the Oasis. Gyps was, of course, Tovinia-born of the Smithing class (her last name was A'Tovinia as a result). She was assigned to the Oasis to make sure the Counsel never got ahead in weapons technology. If they did, they might very well scrap the truce between Tovinias and Counsellanders.

"Gyps, old girl, you've got to learn eventually; I always come when I'm needed," I reminded her. Gyps was actually only a month or so older than me, but everyone called her 'old girl' because of her hair, which had been bleached almost white by the dessert sun and forge-fire heat-power. Gyps smiled.

"Did Zeta tell you anything?" she asked, changing the subject. I shook my head, glancing at Kumi, who seemed just as mystified as we Heralds. She shrugged; she didn't know anything, either.

"Has His Leaderness told you anything, Gyps?" I inquired. She grinned.

"Not much. He's got a death grip on information, our Zeta," Gypsanna A'Tovinia told us. I rolled my eyes.

"I wish he weren't 'our' anything," I muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear.

"That feeling is mutual, I'm sure," Gyps replied with dreadfully accurate honesty. I didn't really care whether Zeta liked me or not. It was my job to keep him from making deadly mistakes here on Heer-olde, not be his friend.

"Still, did our friendly neighborhood dictator tell you what was up?" I demanded. Gyps nodded, confused.

"He just said he wanted some sort of case for an artifact or something," the Smith confessed. Kumi gasped. Obviously, this was enough of a hint for her to know what was going on – or at least have a pretty good guess.

"THAT'S what he wants!" she exclaimed, confirming my suspicion. I crossed my arms and glared.

"All right, Kumi Prime, start talking," I commanded. Unfortunately, my bad luck was still holding out, and Zeta called right then.

"LEORA!" The bellow echoed around the canyon. "I know you're here, Herald! Get over here!" I sighed and (true to my discontented mood) rolled my eyes again. Hey, I'm a super-powerful, female Herald; I can do stuff like that.

"Come on, guys; His Leaderness's aft is calling," I told them. Gyps snorted. Kumi smiled, too, but she was for too loyal to Zeta to actually laugh at his expense. The whole Cybertronian Guard was like that.

We reached Zeta's Cave-in-Canyon-Wall base a few minutes later. Here, let me put down the layout of Cave-in Wall, or simply Cave. The original cavern itself was large enough to serve as Scissorwind's office. Scissorwind was bigger than Kumi (ego and all), brown, and Zeta's bodyguard/secretary/advisor/friend. Big job for an even bigger jerk, in my opinion. Anyway, behind Scissorwind's office was Zeta's meeting room. It looked a lot like any meeting place for a secret group of alien robots, but a tad more primitive (being a cave, and all). Beyond that was Zeta's chamber, where His Leaderness spent his spare time (probably doing one of his two favorite pastimes; coming up with new ways to push my buttons and letting his brain module turn to a slagging heap of molten scrap), and after THAT was a hidden entrance to the Forges, back at the Oasis. Gyps had her own little forge-fire beside the passage, to work on projects for Zeta And Company.

"Leora. You took you sweet time coming," Scissorwind greeted me. I bared my teeth, making him flinch.

"So what if I did? It's MY sweet time, after all," I told him extra sweetly, just to get the point across that he had no place commenting about my timeliness (or lack thereof). Then I let my voice take on an iron edge as I continued, "However, I was getting rid of my Goi tail. So you can take your comments and…." I was just about to tell him where I thought he could shove those stupid comments of his when the door to Zeta's meeting room slid open. Yes, the Cybertronians got door rigged up somehow (don't look at me; I just manage their manners – or try to). His Leaderness, in all his stupid Leaderness-ish splendor (or, once again, lack thereof), emerged.

"Gyps, Kumi, Leora," he greeted us. I un crossed my arms in order to better put my fists on my hips. I pressed my lips into a thin line. I was NOT pleased. Zeta had forgotten elementary conversation protocol – AGAIN!

"Zeta, we've been over this about a billion times! You're supposed to address the highest-ranking Herald first. That would be me. Gyps is a Smith; she's the same rank as me, but Smiths don't start conversations," I scolded. In case this sounds out-of-date to you, I'm sure it's because the Counsel or Governess or someone decided to update the Converse Etiquette. But that's how it was in my time. Conversations in public were formal events, highly dictated by rank, position, and topic.

"WHY do I have to learn all these dumb rules, again?" Zeta complained. I say 'complained' because it would probably be improper to admit that the leader of Cybertronians on Heer-olde was whining (well, he was!).

"Because you're on OUR planet, in OUR society. You can't make such serious blunders, or there will be consequences I can't control," I warned. As old and "dignified" as this guy was supposed to be (like, a few million years old), he was still immature enough to actually roll his eyes at me. And HE doesn't have the reputation of the Tovinias to let him get away with it like I do.

"Whatever," he muttered, as though he were a small child, who was trying to provoke a teacher or parent.

"You, Mister Leader's Aft, need a serious change in attitude," I snapped, my limited patience giving way to unlimited anger and irritation. Unlike Scissorwind, I hadn't beaten Zeta's helmet in enough times yet for him to know how foolish it was to cross me. Therefore, he lacked the experience to know that now would have been a good time for him to duck and cover. Instead, he plowed on with the Surly Infant Routine.

"Why? You're not my boss!" Zeta, also known as Mr. (Im)Maturity, whined. You know what? Slag it all. He was whining. I was SO past my 'Keep Calm' point. I wanted to draw my sword and end my misery by chopping his head off – and Scissorwind's.

"By the Forges, I slagging well AM your boss, tin-head!" I snarled. "Get that through your titanium-plated skull, you overgrown toddler! You want to get chopped to itty-bitty pieces of scrap? Then don't change lanes now, buster, 'cause that's exactly where your ride is headed!" Gyps seemed smug; Kumi was trying to hide what appeared to be very close to a smirk.

"Leora, calm down," Scissorwind begged. I shook my head.

"No slagging way. Zeta's old enough to be chewed out and not cry – I hope," I added meaningfully. Scissorwind winced, but backed off.

"Listen to Leora, Zeta," Kumi requested. "Her protection can only help you so much if you run around constantly insulting every Herald in sight!"

"Zeta. It you offend some of those Heralds out there, _they will kill you_. No questions asked. Not even 'what in the Forges is a giant robot doing in my conversation?' Your armor doesn't stand an ice crystal's chance in a Forge-fire against our _brant_ swords. And you're still carrying the Matrix while we wait for Warria to be ready to accept it," I reminded him. Kumi nodded seriously.

"When you put it that way…" Zeta began.

"And I am," I interrupted.

"It's a good thing Gyps will be starting on the Matrix casing today," he finished. Gyps gasped.

"What Warria's ready?" Kumi demanded. Zeta nodded solemnly.

"Almost. She chose her Counterpart earlier today," he informed us. Kumi snarled. I knew she was furious about missing the ceremony. Zeta didn't seem to notice, however. "We'll appoint her Ruler of Cybertron and Governess of this Colony as soon as Gyps is done," he continued. I scowled. Kumi mirrored my expression so fiercely that Gyps gave us a funny look.

"What? I'd think you'd be happy, Leora. Soon you won't have to deal with Zeta anymore," my friend pointed out, confused. I gave a sharp nod.

"Except that the Counsel will expect invitations, and Zeta will have to learn how to properly interact with them. Which means more of our oh-so-cozy protocol lessons between now and then," I reminded them all. Kumi sighed, the turned to Gyps.

"Take your time. Zeta's got a whole new set of manners to learn, and he's really far from the point where he'll survive the ceremony without a sword through his head," she told the Smith, who shook with pent-up mirth.

"He'll be lucky if it's only ONE sword," I pointed out, "Given the way his mouth gets ahead of his tiny brain."

"How long will it take?" Gyps wanted to know. I shrugged.

"Let me get back to you in about a month or so; I'll know by then," I informed her glumly. Zeta groaned. I raised my eyebrows at him.

"My apologies, Herald," he said meekly. I nodded my approval.

"SO you HAVE learned something," I commented. Zeta nodded.

"Yes, Herald, I have," he agreed eagerly. I rolled my eyes.

"One step past way too far," I told him. "Try to moderate your, uh,…"

"Yes, Herald, I understand," he insisted. I gave him a proud grin.

"Better."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"No, Zeta! You always block, then counterattack! Never forgo a block to slash or cut! But don't give your opponent time to rest, either!" I yelled. Kumi backed off for a moment, blade raised in case Zeta tried to attack. He didn't. Instead, he remained where he was, breathing heavily.

"Sorry, Leora," he called once he'd gotten his breath back. Both Colonials were probably exhausted from all the combat exercise I'd been piling on them. Zeta was doing much better at his etiquette lessons, so I'd decided to change up the schedule and give him extra swordsmanship practice. Kumi and I had been working his skidplate off every chance we got. It was fun, really.

"You better slagging well be. Again!" I ordered. With clearly audible groans, Kumi and Zeta faced off yet again, swords ready. They hesitated, though, and I saw Zeta give Kumi a slightly mischievous grin and tell her something in an undertone. Kumi Prime snorted in reply, but nodded. I got the feeling they weren't exchanging the usual pre-battle jibes I'd come to expect; those were traded in carrying voices, so any spectators could also enjoy a laugh at their opponent's expense. Still, maybe it WAS a taunt of some kind; Kumi's expression now mirrored Zetas. This made little, technorganic me just a little bit nervous. I shrugged it off and called, "Begin!"

The clash of sword on sword rang out, reflected back to us by the high canyon walls. Good thing the Counsel had already ordered all the Heralds not officially involved with the Transformers to stay away; they might have been frightened by the huge metal monsters attacking each other with swords as long as any of our tallest houses. I was suddenly drawn back to the fight by a strange realization; Kumi and Zeta seemed to be working together rather than against one another. They were moving differently, somehow….Almost as if they were edging to one side of the training area….The side closest to my position…. Slag!

Without a visible signal, Zeta, leader of the Colony at that point, and Kumi Prime, my guide to all things big and alien, whirled and advanced, blades held high. If I were any other small, vulnerable Herald, I might have run away screaming. But I wasn't any other small, vulnerable Herald. I was me. I stood my ground. I lifted one eyebrow (_really,_ Kumi? _Really, _Zeta? I mean, just, _really_?). They didn't stop. Their swords were still at the same angle, and I knew they would remain there until just before they actually carried out their little prank.

With an inward sigh, I triggered my little friend Stunnie. NO, I did not voluntarily nickname my stun gun. My peers back in training at the Oasis did that for me. See, some Heralds think its cute or cool or a good idea to name their weapons. I know for a fact that it is not. It's crazy, dumb, and incredibly pointless. Unfortunately for me, my classmates (this was years and years ago now) decided it would be funny to name my high-end and fancy stun gun. It stuck.

"Very good, Stunnie," I muttered. Although Zeta and Kumi didn't know it, their arms would not descend when they wanted them to. This was because their arms were now (ever so conveniently) frozen in place by my stun ray. I quickly accessed my defensive mainframe and activated my medium-strength force field. Yes, medium, not full power. That might have shattered their swords on impact. If not, the blades would be severely damaged.

See, a low-powered, defense-grade personal force field could hold off anything short of a rockslide. Medium could stop anything up to a Heraldic Excess-class bomb at bay, and then make it sit up and beg. Full power was capable of easily stopping a spaceship in its tracks – a Cybertronian-sized spaceship, flaming and crash-landing. Don't ask how I got the experience to know that, please.

The two Colonials were finishing up their pre-attack maneuvers and were trying to begin the actual attack. I could see the wicked, mischievous grins on their faces. They thought I was too scared to move, probably. Or maybe they assumed I assumed they wouldn't actually go through with it. They were wrong either way. I hadn't moved because (as you already know) I was fully prepared to deal with them. So, let them think whatever they wanted for the moment. They'd find out soon enough.

And they did. I watched their expressions change from proud and excited to surprised and horrified as they tried (and failed, for obvious reasons) to lower their blades. The motion of their identical lunges caught them off balance as said lunges failed. They staggered, then flew backwards as I inflated my shield, sending their surprised persons all the way across the practice arena. Obviously they had absolutely NO idea what they were getting their sorry skidplates into.

While they were still flat on their backs from the impact, I stunned their entire bodies to keep them from giving me any further trouble. Down they went and down they stayed. I hovered over and landed between them.

Oh, sorry. Didn't I tell you about hovering? Well, nearly every battlesuit has a fully functional set of anti-gravity boosters built into it. We can't spend all our time trekking up and down canyon sides, especially when we could simply float right over.

Anyway, back to the arena. I drew my two hand-and-a-half swords and laid one next to Zeta's throat, the other at Kumi's. I grimaced, then let my shield fade away to nothing.

"Tut, tut, tut," I scolded. "You'll have to do better than that. WAY better than that, if you expect to hold your own against a Herald."

"Sure, Herald!" Zeta agreed. A small _snick_ alerted me to Zeta's next trick. I flipped one sword behind my back and twirled it, skillfully deflecting the laser bolt the Colonial leader had fired. I sighed and tutted again. SO not a challenge. When would these robots ever learn?

"Still not impressed yet," I informed the two of them. I sighed (yet again) and sent an anti-stun pulse into them.

"Ow…" Kumi muttered. "Zeta, did you get the number of that bus?"

"I wish," Zeta replied before turning to me. "Wow. I never knew you Heralds were so tough." I couldn't hold back the smirk that wanted to decorate my face.

"We have to be." _Otherwise, the Counsel would stomp all over us and use us for floor mats,_ I added silently. But (as I'm sure I've said before) things are better now. The Counsel declared official borders as part of the treaty, and Tovinia land was the Tovinia family's to govern. Also , we Tovinias could apply for citizenship under the Counsel (blech. Like we'd do that) and the Tovinias (which was ours by birth).

"Leora? Are you all right?" Kumi Prime asked worriedly. I shook off my thoughts and shrugged.

"I'm fine. Let's hurry and get the grime off your armor, or we'll be late for the ceremony," I added as an extra incentive for her to get off my slagging case.

Swordsmanship was dirty work at the best of times. Even watching a sword match got you covered in dirt and sweat. Whipping two Colonials into shape (like I'd been doing today) got you (hypothetically, unless you were me) into the 'filthy' range. This, of course, meant roughly an hour of battlesuit cleaning for me. That did not take into account the cleaning of two Cybertronian combatants, however. THAT meant another several HOURS of cleaning work, just to get one of them cleaned up. This is why I told Kumi we might be late for the evening Passing ceremony, even thought it was still only late morning.

As I'd thought, it took until far into the afternoon to get all the dirt off three sets of armor (even considering two of those were Cybertronian-sized) clean and shiny. I hurried back to the Oasis (which most of the Colonials would be seeing for the first time) to get my formal-wear upgrade for my battlesuit.

Okay, how do I explain this…I know! I'll use those pesky Human things as an example. They wear different battlesuits (soft, flimsy ones) each day, because they're purely organic. When a Human goes to an event, he or she will simply change to a more formal battlesuit. Well, in my time on Heer-olde, we modified our genetically bonded battlesuit to something I guess the Humans would "dress armor".

For Warria Prime's Matrix-receiving ceremony, I was giving my battlesuit a pretty big change. The armor color itself could not be altered by much, like hair didn't change colors (not naturally, anyway), but the style and details could be changed easily. My battlesuit would have a tunic to mid-thigh, with an under gown with wide, billowing sleeves and a skirt to my knees. Leggings and knee-high boots completed the look.

My hair, usually in a serviceable ponytail, would hang loose around my shoulders. At the last minute, I decided to have my battlesuit surface on my hands to make soft gloves. It would be cold – desert evenings were always just as chilly as the nights.

I met Kumi and Gyps at the entrance to the Oasis Clearing, where all important events took place. Zeta was at the far end, looking all calm and at ease among those slagging Counsel delegates. Beside him was his mentee/daughter of sorts, Warria Prime, and her Counterpart, Sentinel. They both seemed nervous and eager at the same time. I knew that usually the Matrix accepted whoever the previous Prime (or, if she was dead, the Magnus pair) chose as a successor. Still, there were some who were rejected by the Creation matrix of Leadership. These few were sent into exile.

And now, a bit about Warria and Sentinel. Warria was tall for a Cybertronian, with two hand and a half blades (one over each shoulder). Her pearly armor, tinted gold, shone in the dying sunlight and reflected the brilliant reds and oranges of the sunset. Beside her, yellow-armored Sentinel kept an eye on the Counsel delegates, lest they get too close and pose a threat to his Counterpart. That would have been intolerable. Sentinel was almost exactly the same height as Warria, but with just one sword: a huge, two –handed broadsword. The pommel alone was bigger than the poor Smith who'd forged it.

All around, Heralds and Colonials were gathering for the ceremony. We Heralds weren't sure quite what to expect (this because we'd never seen a Passing before, and the Colonials were extremely tight-mouthed about the previous ones), but the Cybertronians seemed excited – giddy, almost. I heard snatches of conversation, but was still in the dark about what was supposed to be happening.

"It's kind of sad, actually," Kumi confided. "Usually our Magnus Pair – Canis and Ultra Magnus – would present the candidate – Warria – with the Matrix. But Ultra Magnus stayed on Cybertron to look after his little brother, and Canis is too injured. Some say the Magnus Pair bonding is even tighter than the Prime Pair bond for Counterparts. I wonder how they are…"

"Magnus and the others back on Cybertron?" I asked. Kumi Prime gave me a sad, knowing smile.

"My little brothers – Ultra Magnus and Optimus. Optimus is so young. I hope he's all right…" she confided. I gave her what I hoped looked like an encouraging grin. Inside, I was flailing. Ultra Magnus was Kumi's _brother_? Why in the Forge hadn't anyone mentioned this phenomenon before? Cybertronian _siblings_? How did that happen?

"I know what you mean," I managed at last. "I've got family at home, too." I was going to say more, but Zeta rose, and the crowd fell silent. I held my breath as he began to speak.

"Citizens of the planets Heer-olde and Cybertron, I call you together to witness a momentous occasion: the naming of our new Ruling Prime!" the cobalt-armored Colonial announced. I found myself running through Zeta's part in my head, making sure he was saying it right. Hmph. As if I could correct him here.

"The ceremony went on, with a speech from Warria, another from Zeta, then the actual Passing of the Matrix. In an astonishing turn of events (well, I was astonished, but obviously Zeta, Warria, and Gyps knew what was going on), it was Gyps, not Zeta, who bore the Matrix to Warria Prime.

The new casing gleamed. The main body (a sphere with a small, circular window of sorts so the Prime could interface with the Matrix) was burnished gold. There was a ring of blue-white firemetal around the whole thing, with Cybertronian-sized finger grips gouged into the surface. The blue fire of the Matrix itself burned within the beautifully and decoratively carved shell. There were gasps of awe, wonder, amazement, all that stuff from the watching Colonials and Heralds as Warria received it, then held it high above her head for everyone to see.

At her touch, blue flames encased both Matrix and Prime. Warria carefully, almost tenderly, placed the artifact within her chest. The blue light flared, bathing the whole Clearing in its warm glow before it faded. Shouts of surprise from the Heralds made the Colonials smile. Or maybe that was just the beauty and sacred quality of what they had just seen, and what they were witnessing now.

Warria's pearly armor had turned a glittering silver-blue. The gold highlights on the plating shone, and her large amber optics were now a pale, fiery blue. There was a pause as everyone tried to take in what had happened. Sentinel stepped forward, hand raised for quiet (a deafening babble had broken out), and the audience gradually silenced.

"Hail Warria Prime, Governess of the Colony!" he called. Everyone in the Oasis Clearing cheered. Once the roar had died down, the Counsel of Heralds hovered forward.

"We have an announcement to make," the Speaker announced. The Speaker was the leader of the Counsel, and (in case you haven't figured this out yet) he or she Spoke to the Heralds, representing the whole Counsel. "The Heraldic Counsel has decided to join with the Cybertronian Colony. We will be posting the details as they emerge and are relevant." Well, that was why I don't like the Counsel, above and beyond being a Tovinia. 'As they emerge and are relevant'? That meant they weren't going to tell anyone the details until someone got in trouble for disobeying something they didn't know existed. Typical Counsel. With that, though, every last Counsel Member vanished, drawing strangled shouts from the Cybertronians, who weren't used to their habits yet.

"No matter how many times I see it, I'll never get tired of the Passing ceremony," Kumi sighed happily. I nodded, speechless for once. At last I found my voice.

"Is it always so…spectacular?" I whispered. I'd never seen anything like that before.

"Well, Bathilda's ceremony wasn't quite so dramatic," Kumi Prime admitted. I nodded; I doubted anything could be more dramatic than the Counsel when they were scheming.

"They – the Counsel – really shocked everyone, not just the Colonials," I told her softly. "Especially the visiting Tovinias in the crowd." That made her give me a sharp, questioning look as we slowly left the Oasis Clearing. Most of the attendees were still milling about, so we were alone.

"Why Tovinias in particular?" Kumi wanted to know. I sighed heavily, trying to play for time. I'd been avoiding this conversation for a long time, and I didn't like the direction it was headed: Confessionville.

"Because Tovinias and the Counsel…don't get along too well," I said finally. This was the biggest understatement I'd ever uttered in my entire life (that last, in and of itself, is a huge understatement as well). I was hoping she'd take the hint and quit prying, but no such luck.

"Why not?" she asked. Kumi was NOT getting my 'drop the subject NOW' thought waves. I added a little 'please?' on the end. Still no luck. Maybe Colonial brains run on a different frequency than Heraldic brains. Though I don't know why they would….

"We just don't, okay? The Counsel tried to take over our places, and they took our capital and made it theirs. Now, with our fine and shining truce and treaty and all that slag, we have a tiny country on the other side of Heer-olde from where we want to be." Oops. I didn't actually mean to say that much….

"What was your capital?" was al Kumi asked, though. I guess she realized no one knew why the Counsel had done it, not really. I swallowed hard.

"Here. The Oasis. The Forge was our home, our work, our lives. Now all we have to remember those days is the Smithing class. Armor and weapons made in other fires could never match what we used to make here, though." I blinked against the hot sting in my eyes. Maybe I had sand in them or something.

"I wish Cybertron's war was over already. Even if I did have to lose my home to a Faction," she murmured at last. Grateful for the change in subject – even if only slight – I became the inquisitor.

"Tell me more about the Factions. I only know that they're fighting, and that's why you Colonials decided to come here – or get away from Cybertron for a while, anyway," I prompted. Kumi Prime nodded sadly.

"At first we were one big, happy Cybertronian family. But then people began to be…unhappy…with other members of the family." She hesitated.

"They must have been REALLY unhappy if they started a war!" I exclaimed. Kumi nodded.

"We – the guard, under Bathilda and Zeta – tried to hold them together, keep the peace. But our Cybertronian Council of Elders split. The Decepticons used wanted total control of our home world, and the Autobots refused to give it to them, or let it resolve peacefully. Zeta and Bathilda both suffered from assassination attempts, so we left our planet to the mercies of the Factions." Kumi sounded forlorn. I didn't know what to say. Man, this must be a record for me: speechless twice in one night!

"Leora! Psst! Leora!" someone hissed. I turned, calling for Kumi to wait.

"Who's there?" I demanded. I had the nagging feeling that the voice was familiar. This was not a good thing.

"Leora, I need your help," the voice whispered. I rolled my eyes (though whoever it was probably couldn't see this, seeing – or not – as dark had well and truly fallen).

"All right, fine, but who ARE you?" I was really getting a bad feeling by now.

"A friend of Gyps's. Please, just follow me!" I shrugged. Voicey sounded desperate. I could handle anything anyone on this planet could dish out, I was sure. I didn't realize my danger until the electric current tore through me, disabling my battlesuit.

"Molten slagging crap," I muttered. "That's not good."

"No, Leora Tovinia, it's not. Not for you, anyway," I heard before I blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

To relieve some of the embarrassment from that last part, I want to say this: the battlesuit makes the Herald. If a battlesuit is so heavily damaged it can't be repaired, the Herald dies. Our battlesuits are actually part of us, like any limb, not just a skill or item. If a battlesuit is temporarily deactivated, (like, oh, I don't know, by a high-powered electric pulse?) the Herald will usually pass out.

This brings us back to my current situation: I am ever so conveniently being kidnapped by a faceless, unknown SOMEONE whose voice is familiar and claims to be one of Gyps's friends. In case you haven't guessed already, this fact was mildly disturbing.

I figured I was missing a key point – or several. Like: Who the Slagging Inferno These People Were. Or maybe: WHAT IN THE FORGES DO THEY WANT? And WHY?

Okay, I don't have much time. I have to get all this down quick. I know, I know, you don't understand. That's an explanation I'll only get to if I have time. I might not.

Anyway, Breezeswipe is three things: Gyps's apprentice, Sentinel's adopted daughter, and a traitor. This is all his plan – his plan to take the Matrix! (He being Sentinel, not Breezeswipe, who is a female)

See, I'm the bait. Sentinel and Warria and a small group of Guards loyal only to Sentinel are on their way to "rescue" me. Warria will suffer dreadful injuries, and Sentinel will "witness" an enemy take the Matrix from her and give chase with his Guards and Breezeswipe. None will return. They're headed back to Cybertron.

Oh. One good thing, one bad thing. (A; good) I'm going to be released. (B;bad) They know I know. They're going to wipe my memory. I know too much; I'm a threat. There's a machine hooked up to my cell. When they turn it on, ZAP! Bye-bye memory.

If only my future didn't look so bleak.

Anyway, at least I'll be safe, right? I wish Dolf would hurry up and get this over with. Oh, didn't I cover that? Dolf's a traitor, too, and –

I'm not sure who Dolf is, or why he's a traitor or….Slag. I don't even know who I am. But I was holding this, so maybe…did I write it?

Anyway, someone called … uh…Kumi, that's it! She's going to meet me somewhere called the Oasis, to read what's in here. So…I'll stop writing now, I guess….


End file.
